Singe

by Casey Hays

  The last person to step through the swinging door is Dara. She spots me, gives me a tired, sympathetic smile, and makes her way over to us.

  “I didn’t know you were in there,” I say.

  “Yeah, well, it helps to be well-studied. Dr. Bonnet wanted everyone who knew anything about a Fireblood’s anatomy to be in that room. He was thorough.”

  “What an honor to be counted among the doctor’s trusted advisors,” Frankie says. Her admiration is so evident. “Do you plan to become a surgeon?”

  “No. I do what I’m asked around here.” Dara’s humility covers every word. “The fact that I’m sharp enough to understand structure and organ function is just a bonus. I like knowing things, but I don’t have any desire to be a doctor.”

  “How’s Rylin?” I’m done with the small talk.

  “Dr. Bonnett was successful in clearing and repairing some broken fragments in his shoulder blades and treating the initial infection in the wounds, which was his deepest concern. Rylin is stable, sleeping comfortably under extreme and inhuman sedatives that would kill the rest of us.” She hands me a tiny smile. “Well, maybe not you.”

  “So… he’s going to live?”

  “I have tremendous faith that he will pull through this.”

  The sigh of relief that sinks right through the bottom of my lungs should be audible across three states. My hands fly to my face as the waterworks start up again, and Frankie jostles my wrist, accidentally bumping into my nose in overjoyed excitement. It’s more than either one of us expected to hear.

  “Can we see him?” Frankie’s hope takes on a begging quality, but Dara’s stance has “no” written all over it.

  “The doctor has ordered no stimulation for at least twenty-four hours. He’s not out of the woods yet. The surgical team has taken a break, but Rylin requires more surgery within the next six hours, I’m told. The doctor expects some setbacks before it’s all said and done.” She reaches for my arm, giving it a little squeeze. “I know you’re anxious, but you should get some rest. Rylin is in good hands.”

  “Okay,” I agree.

  A pause.

  “Did you… bring Rylin here… in one of your dreams?” Dara’s eyes are warm with sincerity.

  “Yes.”

  “You are amazing,” she breathes, awe lacing each word.

  I might believe this… if Rylin lives.

  ***

  Frankie convinces me to go to bed. I don’t argue. A hint of exhaustion toys with me.

  I take a long shower first. Housekeeping delivered a clean mattress while I was gone. No trace of an injured Fireblood crashing into the room through my dreams, but thanks to me, this suite is likely to have a complete makeover by the time I check out.

  My emotions run high in light of the Contingent’s latest activity, placing my dad’s death heavy on my mind, and equally emphasizing the absence of my ring. I rummage through every corner and crevice of my luggage looking for it, my hands casting just enough light for the search. It’s likely no longer compelled, but that doesn’t matter. I just need to feel its weight on my finger.

  Kane offered to compel it before he left; I refused. I wish I hadn’t. I’d give anything to get a few hours of human sleep, possibly dreamless.

  But I can’t find my ring anywhere.

  I think. Kane must have it. He probably stuck it in his pocket and forgot about it. And maybe, that’s a good thing—for him to have a piece of me with him. Maybe I don’t want to find it.

  I don’t bother with sleeping pills. I know what Petra’s findings say—that my body needs only an hour of sleep—but tell my human-trained brain that. I feel exhausted. Sleep roars in like a lion. I jerk awake a couple of times, but soon, I feel myself settling. A heavy darkness drapes itself over me accompanied by a blanket of stars. I begin to float under the night sky, counting the starts thinking about Kane.

  “Hi, Jude.”

  I turn my head and meet a pair of dark green eyes flecked with gold. My bed is gone. My suite is gone. I hover over a bed of roses, floating on my back.

  “Where have you been?” I whisper.

  The green eyes blink once. I can’t make out his face. It’s too dark. The smell of vanilla mixes with the smell of roses in my brain.

  “I’m safe,” he says. “I’m looking for my parents.”

  With a gasp, I fall suddenly, landing flat in the rose bed. I sit up, look around me. Kane isn’t here.

  The bed of roses extends for miles. A few yards over, I spot the door from my suite, only it contains five bolt locks. I stand, walk to it. I rattle the door handle; it doesn’t budge. I step back and stare at the door. Five locks, no keys.

  There are no walls; there is no threshold. Just a door. I move right to walk around it, but the door turns with me. I move to the left, the door turns.

  Suddenly, there’s a knock. I stare at the locks.

  “Jude?”

  It’s Kane.

  “Jude, let me in.”

  “I can’t. The door is locked.”

  “Don’t you have your key?”

  I look down at my chest where my key always hangs. It’s gone. Which means…

  This is a dream.

  I focus on the door, and one by one, I cause the locks to turn. The door clicks and creaks open.

  “You can come in now.”

  Kane pushes the door the rest of the way open. Only, it isn’t Kane.

  It’s the man from the parking lot.

  He grins at me, his sharp canines protruding from the corners of his mouth. A tiny bit of spittle wets his scruffy chin, and he licks his lips as if he’s hungry, and I’m a tasty meal.

  “You didn’t learn your lesson, did you, little girl?”

  I study him. This is all wrong. He shouldn’t be here.

  He takes a step, but I shove him. He flies backwards, catches himself on a pole and flings himself toward me like a catapult, a low laugh in his belly. But I get the last laugh. With one thought, the door slams closed and all five locks click simultaneously. A loud crash followed by a menacing growl accompanies it. Then silence.

  “Jude?”

  I move closer, my ear to the door.

  “Jude, it’s me.”

  Kane. I press a hand against the smooth wood.

  “I can’t let you in, Kane.”

  “I know.” I feel his hand on the other side, pressed warm against mine. “Don’t open the door again.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll run.”

  “Where?

  “I can’t tell you until I’m there.”

  I don’t understand.

  “Kane, please tell me where you are? I can come to you.”

  “No. Stay there. They don’t know where to look.”

  My heart beats, slow and sad.

  “You can’t come back here, can you?” I ask.

  “No. And you can’t leave.”

  I know I’m dreaming, but in that instant, my heart breaks for real.

  “Kane, where is my ring?”

  Silence is the answer.

  Thirty

  I wake up a few hours later, fully rejuvenated and just a little pissed off. Because I know exactly where my ring is.

  Kane took it. On purpose.

  To keep me here.

  By the time I make it back to the medic wing of the lab, I’m pretty hot, and I don’t mean in the Fireblood sense. The chairs across from the operating room are empty. In fact, the entire place is dead silent. I check the clock above the window—the one that drove me crazy all night for not moving faster. It’s noon.

  I take a step closer to the window and listen. The same silence looms back at me from behind the glass. That swinging door is calling my name. Slowly I slide over and gently ease it open.

  The operating room itself is empty. And dark, except for one him bulb that hangs over the padded table. What did I expect? And where have they put Rylin?

  I start off toward the central area of the lab. Except for a few of th
e staff working at computers inside their small glassed-off offices, it’s quiet—just as deserted as the rest of the place. I catch a curious glance or two from people as I pass by. I imagine word travels fast in an underground lab that is sparsely and secretly manned. It doesn’t help that I look as human as they come, besides my natural glow. Honestly, I haven’t personally met any of these people. I don’t even know what they do here, so I don’t engage. I slip past with my head down.

  Petra is nowhere to be found, and Joshua’s office is empty too.

  “Where the hell is everyone?”

  I take the next corridor, and as I near the kitchen, I hear Frankie’s voice. I duck in and find her and Dara sitting on the tall metal stools munching on sandwiches. Dara says something; Frankie laughs. I stand in the doorway until Frankie spots me.

  “Hi.” She gives me a little wave. “How’d you sleep?”

  “What are you doing?” I answer her question with my own, and not in the tone she expected. She stops chewing and lowers her sandwich. Dara straightens, unsure. She lets Frankie take the lead on this one.

  “We’re having lunch. Do you want a sandwich?”

  “No, I do not want a sandwich.”

  My stomach growls right on cue, defying my will, and I’m angry about it. I’m angry that I ate that piece of toast. I’m angry that my body continues to function, to need things, to want things, when the rest of my life has gone awry. Because nobody should want a sandwich right now. Not with the uncertainty of Rylin’s condition. Not with the uncertainty of Kane’s whereabouts. Nothing should be as normal as eating sandwiches around here. I clench my fists working to control my breathing.

  Frankie rises from her stool with lifted hands. “Upon preliminary observation, I think you might benefit from a sandwich.”

  That does it. I brush past her, shovel up the second half of her sandwich, and cram it into my mouth. Chewing is difficult, but I somehow manage to get every bit of it down my throat, taking special note not to enjoy a single inch of it, while Frankie and Dara stare at me in stunned disbelief. But neither of them says a word. Not until I’ve chugged half of Frankie’s bottle of water to chase the sandwich all the way down and slammed the container back onto the table.

  “There.” I wipe the back of my hand across my face. “I had a sandwich.”

  The silence overwhelms the room, neither of them knowing what to do about me. Finally, Dara clears her throat and stands.

  “I think the two of you may have a few things to discuss.”

  She leaves with a small, concerned glance at Frankie, but once we’re alone, I burst into tears.

  “Jude.” Frankie circles the table, taking my hand and shaking it roughly. “You have got to pull yourself together. This kind of behavior is no help whatsoever to Rylin or anyone.”

  “I know,” I blubber, shaking her fingers loose and climbing up onto the stool. I prop my elbows, and drop my face into my hands. This isn’t her fault. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I can’t find my ring, and I dreamt about Kane, and I think he took it with him to make sure I couldn’t follow after him. And I don’t know what’s happening with Rylin and everything is just so overwhelming.”

  Frankie lets me have my little breakdown without interruption. She takes the stool next to me.

  “Would it help if I told you I know the answers to all your concerns?”

  My eyes stab her, confused.

  “First of all, Kane didn’t take your ring. I have it.”

  I freeze, stunned. “Why?”

  “Because Kane left it for me. With a note that said the ring is fully compelled. Don’t give it to Jude until it’s absolutely necessary.”

  I frown. “And who gets to decide that?” This is so wrong.

  Frankie shrugs. “Me, I suppose.”

  Unbelievable.

  “I want my ring, so you’d better decide pretty quickly that it’s necessary to give it to me.”

  She hesitates, adjusts her glasses, puts on her most professor-like face. “What are you planning to do?”

  “Nothing. I just want it.”

  “Well, when you have a definitive need for it, I’ll give it to you. Otherwise, it stays in my safekeeping.”

  “Frankie, you can’t–”

  “I can,” she interrupts. “And there’s nothing you can do about it because you have no idea where it is.”

  “Frankie, you—”

  “This conversation is over.” She lugs me to my feet. “Now, come on. You need to see something before you make any rash decisions.”

  She doesn’t wait for me. She just leaves. I scramble off the stool fast enough to knock it over with an echoing clatter. I don’t bother picking it up.

  I catch Frankie just as she’s rounding the corner at the end of the corridor, heading back to the medical wing. But instead of taking a left toward the empty operating area, she turns right.

  “Where are we going?”

  She doesn’t answer me, and I wonder if she’s irritating me on purpose. The hallway is clean, the lighted panels medium bright. My own hue casts a subtle orange glow against the sterile white walls as we walk. I’ve never been to this section of the lab. We pass by an unoccupied desk in a small lobby.

  “This desk was manned earlier. No visitors allowed.” Frankie shrugs. “Guess they’re on a break.”

  We enter a shorter hall; Frankie stops at the first door. It’s slightly ajar. The out-of-sync, intermittent beeping sounds of a couple of the machines escapes into the hallway. My heart catches in my throat. I look at Frankie.

  “He’s in here.” She pushes the door open, then looks at me. “Don’t excite him.”

  My heart skips a beat, possibly two. And every faculty I possess kind of pauses as I take in the vision before me.

  Rylin lies on a narrow bed as still as death. The only indication that he’s alive is the steady, but slightly labored breaths that lift his chest every few seconds. His hands lay at his sides, his bare body wrapped tight all the way around in white bandages. A thin sheet covers his lower half. His skin, shimmering orange, looks miles better than when I last saw him.

  The middle finger of his right hand has one of those little monitors pinched onto the end of it. His hand twitches once, then stills. He isn’t lying flat. Instead, he’s poised at a forty-five degree angle on some sort of a thickly padded, springboard lift wedged right between his shoulder blades to support… his wings.

  I’m going to faint. I just know it. I feel the effect rising up inside me. I wobble on uncertain feet; Frankie takes my elbow. I totally forgot she was here.

  “I—I don’t understand,” I whisper. My head spins, and I second-guess my memory.

  “One of the regents made it happen,” Frankie explains.

  Mr. Simon.

  My stomach hurts. I can’t believe my eyes.

  “The surgeon is skeptical. This is the first reattachment they’ve ever performed.” Frankie moves to the end of the bed and lays a gentle hand on Rylin’s foot. “But Petra says the odds are good.” Her eyes graze over them. “I’m no surgeon, but they’ve done a brilliant job in my opinion.”

  “How were they able to pull this off?” I barely recognize my own voice.

  “Apparently this regent is quite influential. The wings were immediately procured, frozen, and delivered here to the lab—before Rylin arrived. They were severely damaged and had to be reconstructed, but they were ready to be reattached as soon as he was stable.”

  This is incredible, and I can’t speak. My lip trembles, tears begin to roll, and it takes all my strength to keep from falling to my knees and sobbing for joy. The fact that Rylin survived at all is more than I could ever ask for. But this?

  “You did this for him, Jude.” Admiration laces Frankie’s statement. “The doctor says even thirty minutes more and infection would have been too severe to save his life, let alone reattaching the wings.” She sighs, squeezing his toes. “Now, we just have to hope he heals.”

  “He’s a Fireblood,” I whi
sper. “He’ll heal.”

  “Maybe. But—” She hesitates, then decides to say what’s on her mind. “Firebloods don’t survive executions.”

  Our eyes meet; I see the worry behind her lenses. I take another step into the room. The lights are dimmed, the soft glow of my own skin suddenly and brilliantly illuminating the area. Frankie moves toward the door.

  “I’ll keep a look out,” she whispers. “Don’t stay too long.”

  She eases the door closed. I move to the side of the bed, hesitant, absorbing the scene. I almost don’t want to believe it; I never thought to see it again.

  I’m tentative, and I don’t want to be. I need to be deliberate, forceful in my intentions. Because reality tells me Rylin is in a terribly precarious position. He might die. After it’s all said and done, he—

  Stop it, Jude.

  There’s no time for that kind of thinking. Quickly, I cover Rylin’s hand with my own. His skin is warm, but not nearly as hot as usual. His beautiful red-tinged wings, bandaged tightly where scapula meets each shoulder area, are dull in color. I avoid them, afraid that even a single touch, a single accidental bump into them might undo the whole process. Cables, supported by a bar fastened with bolts to the ceiling, brace the wings, relieving the pressure off of his shoulders and back. A monitor beeps above his head. Two heartbeats working together to keep his blood pumping. I squeeze his fingers and very cautiously ease into his head.

  “Rylin, I’m here.”

  No response. It’s as if there’s nothing in there. As if he’s an empty carcass. And what if this is true? What if after everything, he’ll lie here, comatose, for the rest of his life? Rylin could never live like that.

  An involuntary sob escapes me, so loud in the silence, and I rush to cover my mouth. Good grief, even in my own head I can’t keep it together.

  Be strong, Jude.

  I sit, never losing hold of his hand. He doesn’t need me to talk. I’m here; that’s enough. Well, it’s enough for me anyway. I hope he knows I’m here. I hope he’s glad I came. My sigh feels as loud as my sob. His heartbeat is the only sound. I lean my forehead against the siderail that graces the length of the bed, and I just listen.